


kiss and make-up

by snowandfire



Series: sephora zuko [3]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Retail, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Sephora Zuko, Sokka is a good boyfriend, as a treat, programmer sokka, some soft zukka, zuko and jet were wrong for each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:15:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26572051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowandfire/pseuds/snowandfire
Summary: [“Cute and smart? How did I get so lucky?”Zuko is glad he’s wearing a layer of moisturizer, primer, foundation, and fake blush right now, because his real blush every time Sokka says anything even vaguely nice to him is mortifying.Nevertheless, he has hidden moments of pure, feral courage, and has been known to do ‘crazy shit’ sometimes, so he’s within his rights when he says, “It-uh, it helps that you’re hot.”]OR: zuko works at sephora and has a panic after seeing his ex-boyfriend, jet
Relationships: Past Jet/Zuko - Relationship, Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Series: sephora zuko [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1872541
Comments: 24
Kudos: 651
Collections: Sephora Zuko





	kiss and make-up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hot_leaf_juice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hot_leaf_juice/gifts).



It’s two-thirty in the afternoon. Zuko has off for the rest of the day. It’s a special one, as it’s Sokka’s birthday. It’s a Wednesday, so there aren’t actually that many people in the store, and Zuko can afford to let Sokka follow him around a bit. Just for the last few minutes of his shift. He’s just restocking the shelves. Replacing the ‘trial samples’ of eyeshadow with some fresh ones. He goes in order from what he likes the best to what he likes the least. And offers a running commentary to Sokka. 

“Pat McGrath basically invented make-up,” Zuko says. 

“Uh-huh, okay, so she’s like...what Turing is to computers, except for make-up,” Sokka follows along. 

“Turing, he’s the guy, the one who made the idea of Turing machines. Except, it isn’t a _real_ machine. It’s like a concept. Right?” Zuko asks, hoping that he’s retained even the slightest bit of what Sokka told him that time when they were just lying in bed at one in the morning. 

“Cute _and_ smart? How did I get so lucky?”

Zuko is glad he’s wearing a layer of moisturizer, primer, foundation, and fake blush right now, because his _real_ blush every time Sokka says anything even vaguely nice to him is mortifying. 

Nevertheless, he has hidden moments of pure, feral courage, and has been known to do ‘crazy shit’ sometimes, so he’s within his rights when he says, “It-uh, it helps that you’re hot.” 

"Does it now?" Sokka wiggles an eyebrow at him. 

"Shut up." Zuko picks up a palette with neutral rectangular shades all in a row. "This is _Naked_ by Urban Decay. The original. This changed the whole game."

"Who woulda thought. Getting naked changes the whole game even in make-up?" 

" _Sok-_ ka." 

"That's my name." 

"You can't say things like that when we're in the store." Zuko slots the palette back into place. 

" _I_ was talking about the palette. That's what you call like a set of those right? A palette. I don't know where your dirty mind was going--" 

Zuko holds up a hand and sighs deeply. 

"You look good today," Sokka says suddenly. "I like the blue shade on your eyes. I mean you look good every day. Pretty freaking hot actually. But today. The make-up." 

_He's trying._ He's trying and it means so much. 

"I like blue," Zuko says, a little flustered. 

"Well blue likes you."

_Oh my god._

"Shut up." 

"The customer is always right, dude." 

"Dude? You're gonna flirt with me in public and call me _dude_."

Zuko's 99% sure Sokka knows he has a pet peeve about this. And purposefully calls him 'dude' these days to get this exact reaction. Doesn't matter. Zuko's more than willing to play along. 

“Would you prefer _baby_ , love of my life? Honey muffin?” 

“You _know_ I. Sok _ka._ ” Zuko drops the eyeshadow samples in his hand and they clatter to the floor. “I don’t come into _your_ office and pull shit like this.” 

He looks annoyed. He’s glaring. But he’s also blushing. And, oh-so-worked-up. Sokka lives for it. Zuko _knows_ that he lives for it. It’s just one of those things. Zuko likes getting his buttons pushed. Because he knows Sokka won’t push too far. He trusts him. 

“Feel free to drop by my desk any time,” Sokka says. “It’s an open office. My co-workers have been dying to meet you for the longest time. Ever since they saw the picture on my desk.” 

“You--you have a picture of _me_ on your desk?” Zuko asks as he picks up his stuff from the ground, looking around the aisle to make sure no one saw. 

“No, it’s a picture of a sea slug. Of course it’s a picture of you, you dork.” 

“Which picture did you use?” Zuko asks, resuming his work placing in the trial samples. 

“The one of you in Japan, with your Uncle.” 

“Not a picture of us? Wait, where did you even get that picture. I didn’t--” 

“Zuko, I don’t _have_ any pictures of us. I might have asked your uncle for a picture of you.”

“Oh.”

“Hey, if you want I’ll ask Katara to take a picture of us next time we all hang out. She owes me. I’ve had to take like a million. Of her and Aang. It’s been torture honestly.” 

Zuko likes that idea. Of course, he wouldn’t really have anywhere to put a picture like that. Not having a desk job and everything. That’s an issue. He supposes he could put it in his wallet. Or maybe somewhere in his car. Or at his apartment. Or maybe a copy in all of those places. Unless that’s excessive. _Fuck maybe that would be excessive._ And what if he looks weird in the picture? He and Jet never took pictures. Except that one time. When--

“Hey, baby? I can see your wheels turning. Just take a second and breathe okay. You can tell me about it later, but I’m sure it’s fine. I’m gonna head to the food court and grab a donut. I’ll meet you back here later, okay?” 

“Okay,” Zuko nods. “But if you get a donut now, you’re not allowed to have one for the rest of the week.” 

“Zuko, come on.” 

“You told me to keep you honest.” 

“Fine, but only because _I love you_ more than I love donuts.”

“I’m flattered. Now get going,” Zuko shoves him lightly with the arm that isn’t holding a collection of _Natasha Denona_ products. 

* * *

Zuko’s pretty much finished, he’s just about ready to clock out for the day when he hears it. It’s a voice he’d recognize anywhere. And not just because of bad memories. But because of good ones too. _Jet._

He remembers Jet whispering in his ear during their first date at the movies. The sound and the closeness sending a happy sort of chill down Zuko’s spine. He remembers their first kiss in the parking lot afterwards. It was dark and shadows danced across Jet’s face from the streetlamps. His bangs lay flat and wet on his forehead. Zuko remembers the way Jet had leaned down and held his face. Gently, softly, even though Zuko’s face was dripping wet too. How he smiled, or actually, smirked, into their kiss. How he took it further and faster than any first kiss should. Every touch was electric. He laughed at Zuko’s surprise. _You’re so far gone for me, aren’t you?_ He was so smug. He was always so smug. 

Jet had always felt so warm. Zuko still remembers the feeling of being in his arms. Which at first felt like a safe harbor and then like an iron cage. Jet had never said ‘I love you.’ Not like Sokka had. Jet was frequently in his own head, much like Zuko could be, and even though the way he touched Zuko often implied the sort of care that Zuko needed--it never felt like enough. 

Towards the end of their relationship, Zuko had started to get antsy all the time. He never felt like he was doing enough. Like he wasn’t acting right or being right, in order to get Jet’s affection. They had fights about it. Jet started to get overprotective and stubborn. Asking who Zuko was going out with. And why. He could never _just trust_. He couldn’t let Zuko all the way in. 

That’s when the bad memories started. The nights where they lay awake and tried to talk it out and ended up crying and shouting or both. At each other or just at the world. Zuko remembers how he had looked in those times. Make-up running all the time, late for work, sleeping in his work clothes when he got home. He remembers the last time when he lay on Jet’s chest and he knew it was over. How he couldn’t stop kissing him and kissing him because he wanted _something_ to fix it and he didn’t want to be alone. Jet’s hands in his hair, gentle, but shaking, the way Jet didn’t want to quit on them, how he never wanted to quit anything. It had been hard to break up with him. 

There had always been an intensity to Jet. It was attractive, at first, but it wasn’t what Zuko needed. Zuko knew that _he_ wasn’t what Jet needed either, but Jet hadn’t wanted to admit that. It didn't make sense to him that two broken people couldn’t make a whole.

(They could. He and Sokka did. But that was something else completely)

“Hey Sephora boy,” Jet said, coming into the aisle, and into Zuko’s space, and crowding his mind with alarm bells and questions and fear. 

_Keep it professional._

“Is there something I can help you with?” Zuko put on his ‘customer service’ voice. 

Jet took Zuko’s hands in his, glancing at his nail polish. It was a shade of absolute black, the darkest shade in the entire O.P.I. range. Black Onyx. A couple shades off from it in the display was a more indulgent, glittery black called ‘My Private Jet’, but that particular piece of information wasn’t important right now. What was important was that Jet was holding his hands, and looking up at him with that mischievous gleam in his eyes. 

“I like this color. Do you have something brighter maybe?” 

“Sure, we _have_ it. But you don’t paint your nails. You never even--” Zuko stammers on, but collects himself again, yanking his own hands out of Jet’s grip. “Alright, fine, follow me.” 

Jet follows him to the nail polish aisle. It’s particularly aesthetically pleasing. Zuko’s one of the few associates who actually likes organizing the display nail polish by color. It satisfies a part of his mind that likes order and fluidity. He likes the way green becomes yellow and yellow becomes orange. He likes the long section of blacks and whites too. He likes painting Sokka’s nails bright white or silver. It goes with the silver studs Sokka wears in his ears. 

“You moved on fast,” Jet mentions. 

“What kind of finish do you like?” Zuko asks, ignoring him entirely, and focusing on the nail polish. Lots of glittery shades available this year. He _hates_ glitter. There’s nothing clean about it. 

Jet puts a hand on his shoulder and Zuko instantly steps away. 

“I just mean, did it really mean that little to you?” Jet asks. 

_This is not happening._ Zuko’s heart is racing. He looks down at his own hands. Focusing at the depth of the black. Pure black on his nails. And then up at Jet again. He’s not good at the whole ‘cool under pressure’ thing. That’s more Sokka. But he is good at chasing people off, or so he thinks. He’s only soft for the people he likes anyway. 

“Jet, I’m working here, if you don’t want to buy something, I don’t have time for you,” Zuko says, and it’s in a different tone than the way he said it to Sokka, harsher. 

“Just answer the question!” 

_Did it really mean that little to you?_ What do you say to that? Zuko wishes sometimes that he could put on a fresh face of make-up and become someone that Jet never touched or never knew. But not because it didn’t mean anything. Because it did and it hurt. What could he say to that? Could he talk about the afternoons at Mai’s, sitting on her couch feeling numb and yet seething with anger at the same time? The quiet evenings with Uncle, someone who cared so much but couldn’t understand. 

How it felt to tell Sokka that he liked him but he needed to take it slow. Last time he had fallen so quickly and so fast and it had been bad. How long it took to feel okay with kissing Sokka and not thinking of ‘befores’ and ‘last times.'

Zuko grabs a bottle of polish off the shelf, a black shade called ‘You might be Evil’ by Icing. 

He drops it into Jet’s hands. “You want an answer, there’s an answer for you.” 

In retrospect it’s probably not the most mature way to handle things. But to be fair, Zuko’s only ex from high school was Mai, and he’s attracted to drama like a moth to a flame. 

“I’m the evil one? Me? Right, you move on with mister perfect and throw me out like last week’s trash and I’m the evil one.” 

“You’re harassing me at my workplace.” 

“This is a _make-up_ store. Your workplace. Please, you act like you’re one of those suits, an attorney or a stock broker or something. You’re not. You sell colored powders and expensive knick knacks. Get over yourself.” 

_That stings._

“Get out.” 

“No.” 

“Fine,” Zuko says, “then I will.” 

He knows that if he stays in there any longer there’ll be nothing stopping him from saying things he might regret. He’s so stuck in his head and fuming in his own mind that he doesn’t even notice crashing into Sokka on his way out. He doesn’t even notice that it’s Sokka he’s crashing into. 

“Watch where you’re going!” he snaps. 

“Zuko, it’s me,” Sokka says. 

“I’m going home,” Zuko says defiantly, hands still shaking. 

“I--I drove you here. Okay, uh, yeah. No problem. I’ll take you home.” 

Zuko says nothing on the ride back. He doesn’t touch the aux cord or the radio. 

Sokka doesn’t press the subject in the car. He knows how to give Zuko time. He also knows when it’s a bad situation to start an argument. Context is everything. He can’t focus on talking while behind the wheel. So he won’t even try to. He’s strategic. He _cares._ Somehow the contrast between that and what just happened just makes Zuko sick. 

“Zuko, what happened out there? Back at the mall.” The door slams shut behind Sokka. 

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Zuko says flatly. 

“Okay,” Sokka says, it’s soft and it’s gentle and Sokka’s not pushing.

Something inside him snaps. “OKAY?! How can you just accept that?”

“I _love_ you. I’m not gonna push you to talk to me until you feel like you’re ready to.” 

Zuko knows, deep down that he’s right. But there’s an itch, there’s an itch within his brain that says _no._ If you really cared you’d scream and throw a fit. You’d push and force until you got your way. That’s love. That’s how you show love. It has to be, otherwise father never even really--

“Stop it,” Zuko glares. “Just stop it.” 

"Okay," Sokka says again, even softer. 

"Stop saying okay!" Zuko says, and he's just barely holding back tears. 

_It's not okay. I'm not okay._

Sokka stops talking, which is rare for him. It’s probably out of an abundance of concern that whatever he might say is the wrong thing. But Zuko’s not in his right mind right now. All he can think of is fighting with Jet. The way Jet’s hands felt on his. It wasn’t right. 

“Baby, Zuko, baby.”

“I saw Jet. I just don’t wanna talk about it.” 

“You don’t have to.” 

Zuko goes to take his make-up off, and he thinks about it. What Sokka must think of him. He’s being difficult. He just can’t help it. He’s ruining this. He starts with an oil based cleanser first. Then water based. He had actually never come to the point with Jet where he would be around him very much without make-up. Jet had liked a few different ‘looks’ on him. And he had stuck with them for the most part. 

It’s hard to tell what Sokka likes. His reaction is the same no matter what set of colors, or angles or contours Zuko creates on his face. It’s taken some time for Zuko to realize why this is. Sokka doesn’t like the make-up so much at all. He likes Zuko himself. 

He sits on the sofa with Sokka. Sokka opens his arms to him and it’s easy, so easy to just sink into them. Let Sokka card his hands through his hair. 

“I’m really sorry about that, I know I was being weird, and I get if you’re mad.” Zuko waits for the rebuke. 

“I’m not mad,” Sokka explains. 

“You sound like Uncle.” 

“That’s not a bad thing, your Uncle’s cool.” 

“Easy for you to say, he didn’t buy rainbow crocs to support _you_ coming out of the closet.”

“What’s that thing the kids say?” Sokka says, “He’s confused but he’s got the spirit. Yeah, I think that about sums it up.” 

“Could I, uh, maybe lay on you, if you’re free?” Zuko still hasn’t gotten the hang of asking for what he wants, but after months of practice, he’s getting...somewhere. 

“I’m free,” Sokka says, adjusting them on the sofa so that Zuko is pressed flush on top of him. He kisses Zuko’s hair and Zuko lets out a breath he wasn’t even aware of having held in. 

“How was work?” Zuko asks. 

“Not trying to brag or anything, but I’m killing it.” 

“Yeah? That’s good. I bet they’re happy with you.” 

“They are. I’ll probably be up for promo this year.” 

“That’s great!” 

Zuko nestles his face in Sokka’s neck. He can drown out the whole world and pretend there’s nothing but him and Sokka in it. Sokka has freckles on his neck. A small scar near his collarbone. He has acne scars as well, but mostly faded. Zuko’s always liked the fact that there’s a little bit of texture on Sokka’s skin too. It makes him feel less bad when Sokka’s fingers will brush against the scar when they’re making out. To know that it’s something, to some, smallish extent, that they share. 

Jet had never shied away from touching the scar either. But unlike Sokka, he had never really asked. He had touched it a lot when he had done Zuko’s portrait. Painted it red, and ugly, and practically festering. It had never really felt right of him to do that. To look at that. Zuko doesn’t even like photos taken from that side. 

Jet’s touch on him had been sparks and fire. Sokka’s touch was gentle and cool. 

“I read about C, the programming language you told me about,” Zuko says. 

“Do you _see_ why I love it so much?” 

“Sort of, yeah, I have some questions for you, I’m not really, the most technical.” 

“You know you don’t have to look up the things that I like and know stuff about them. But it’s sweet that you do.” 

Zuko leans up to kiss him, because he likes being called sweet, he likes being here in Sokka’s arms, and because he wants to. 

“One day, I’ll teach you how to program for real,” Sokka says, kissing Zuko’s swiftly reddening skin. 

“ _Please_ ,” Zuko says, relaxing into every kiss, “Please do.” 

But then Sokka takes his hand and Zuko remembers, he stiffens. Sokka notices. He stops. 

“What’s wrong?” 

_I don’t want to lose you like I lost him. Like I lost--_ Zuko thinks about all the time he spent trying to save him and Jet. Every second of it. He worked so, so hard. He’s always hard to work for _everything_ he’s ever had. 

Sokka’s eyes are brown and open and trusting. Zuko feels like he doesn’t deserve it. He’s not the kind of guy that gets to have this. A soft landing into something that feels like something the old him wouldn’t even have dreamed of. 

“It was pretty bad, the way it all went down.” 

“With Jet.” 

“Yeah.” 

“I always hated that guy.” 

“You did?”

“Even before I knew you, honestly, he was always such a jerk.” 

“I. It’s just. I--I don’t want that to happen with you... Ever,” Zuko admits, and it hurts to even say it out loud. 

“Me too. I don’t ever want to be the person that makes you feel like that.” 

“It’s not you,” Zuko tries to explain, speaking his truth into Sokka’s neck, “If it happened it would be me. It was my fault.” 

All the things Sokka says next. _I need you to know that it wasn’t._ They don’t really do much. Not yet. Zuko’s still in his own head. And those are words. But the feel of Sokka, the steadiness of his voice. The fact that he never raises it too much. The lightness of it. How he lightens the mood after a few minutes with a terrible joke. That’s what makes Zuko feel better. 

It feels good, to fight fire with water and not with fire. 

Zuko takes his face out Sokka’s neck, and decides to ignore the wetness there, and looks up into his eyes, “What will you do? If we ever do get into, you know, get into it...with each other…”

“I mean we could get into a fight, you can be pretty annoying--”

Zuko punches him in the arm, and Sokka winces. 

“But if we do,” Sokka continues, “We’ll always kiss and make-up.” 

_Oh my god. That’s so cheesy._ But it’s exactly what he needs to hear. Sokka’s exactly who he needs to be with. He’s left behind heat for warmth. And he’s got what he needs now. He’s home. 

**Author's Note:**

> come scream at me at @bluberry-spicehead on tumblr if you liked this or leave me a line here


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